Page 75 of Lavender Moon

“Our anniversary. You don’t turn down dares, Kaleb,” she says quietly, tunneling both hands through her hair, pushing it out of her face. She’s running out of steam, but this last blow is the clincher. “I dare you to make it to the one-year mark, but if you truly want this game to be over, then fold, right now, and I’ll give you your divorce.”

Son of a fucking bitch. She turned the tables and is now offering to do the very thing she’s been protesting. And she got me, I can’t fucking do it, because I can’t turn down a dare… at least that’s what I tell myself right now, pretending that I won’t learn later on that it’s fucking bullshit.

33

LUNA

It’s not that Kaleb’s revelation didn’t devastate me. It did. In that moment, however, it pissed me off even more. He’s holding back, and while that might be a reasonable prerogative for him, I can do the same. He doesn’t get to know how much I hurt. But he did do me a favor that night… he lit a fire under my ass.

Kaleb’s recent behavior is solely on him, but he accidentally showed one of his cards the other night. He said that we’re not the same people we were before, not just him. There’s been a change in me since Carter’s attack, and though I’ve been trying to protect Kaleb from it, it’s showing through on the outside, and I can’t help but wonder if I got back to myself he wouldn’t feel like things are so different; he could see that this era of our lives can be surmountable.

I need to take care of Kaleb, but I also need to take care of myself. I feel like he’d trust me more and lean on me if I did.

As much as I miss sleeping with him, I think my moving into the spare bedroom is for the best for right now. I truly believe that he didn’t mean to hurt me the last time we had sex. His trauma took him to a scary place in his mind, but I can’t risk it again, and I can’t be falling into some toxic rinse and repeat cycle where he loses his shit and I console him. We need to work on ourselves – both separately and together – it’s just that I think I’m the only one who knows it.

But that doesn’t matter. One thing I need to do is get into painting, no matter how much of a struggle it’s been since last year. With my overalls on, I sit on the stool in front of my easel, playing with a stray hair that’s come loose from my ponytail and noting it’s lack of purple. Only if I twist it a certain way in the light can I see it. Guess I haven’t felt very expressive lately, not enough to keep up with it. Releasing it, I put a slow, girly station on my music app, and while my choice isn’t very upbeat, it can be emotional and moving and I’m desperate.

Grabbing hold of my brush in my left hand, I examine the fingers on my right. They’ve obviously heeled, and it was only the last two, the ones I use the least. But still, they always have a stiffness to them now that only I notice, and I feel the need to flex them a few times before settling in with a task.

A creek in the hallway floorboards gets my attention, and my head swiftly turns to find Kaleb on the other side of the doorway, looking at me curiously. We hold our stare for just a few beats, saying nothing; just taking each other in, before I turn back to my blank canvas. A couple of seconds later, I hear him retreat down the hall and I take a look at all my paints. I sigh, still feeling no inspiration or colors calling to me but I push through, selecting a few shades before rising to close the door. For the next while, I dab, swipe, brush, blot, and blend, not sure exactly what it is I’m constructing, but going with it – even if it’s not my signature style, I need to do something to get me back at it. This is just a phase I tell myself.

When I finally hit a wall, I change back into clean clothes and sit down on the bed and pick up my phone for something to do while my progress dries. My heart takes a swan dive into the pit of my stomach when I see a missed call from both my mother and our family lawyer, Mike Harris. I chew on the inside of my cheek and press my eyes tightly closed, trying to ward off the incoming flood of sickening nerves. I can only guess the two calls go hand in hand with each other.

I bypass the voicemails, wanting to get straight to the root of the phone calls and dial Mike’s number. I do want to talk to my mom, but I want to have some kind of handle on things when I do; some semblance of control.

“Luna,” My name is a sigh on the other end when Mike picks up, already signaling that this is bad.

“Mike, what is it?” I ask eagerly, wasting no time.

There’s a pause, followed by more air being blown out before he answers, “Sixteen months’ probation and a thousand dollar fine.”

I go dizzy for half a second before swallowing hard. “That’s it?” I ask incredulously. “Mike, I did everything. I recounted my story dozens of times, I testified in that hearing in the same room as that fucking monster. His lawyer is sleezy and clever but you’re a fucking shark, how did this happen?” I rattle every confusing, heated sentiment in quick succession while simultaneously tamping down the sobs trying to inch their way up my throat.

“It was the plea deal, Luna,” he says regretfully. “Confessing to half the crime is what saved his ass from going to prison.”

“This is bullshit,” I protest in a venomous whisper as I scrub a hand across my forehead.

“I know, Luna. I’m so sorry,” he consoles before his tone goes up, trying to instill some shred of hope. “We can try again. We could start a whole new case if you still have that forged letter and –”

He doesn’t get to finish as I disconnect the call, not wanting to hear anymore. Another action that’s not like me. I guess pre-deployment Luna is going to be harder to get back to than I thought.

“Lu?” I jump at Kaleb’s voice accompanied by a tap at the door.

“Yeah?” I call back, rising and striding across the room, smoothing my hair and schooling my features on the way. I whip open the door to find Kaleb in his joggers and his bomber jacket. In the last few weeks he’s let his hair grow back long in the front, and despite my inner turmoil, my insides warm a little bit when he tosses it out of his eyes. “Time for PT,” he says softly.

“Okay,” I nod and quickly turn to throw a cloth over my art piece and follow him down the hallway.

Once in the car and headed to the VA in West Bridge, as always, I try to act cheerful and make small talk. Today is extra challenging however, what with the lame-ass sentence Carter got for beating the shit out of me.

“You’ve been working really hard… maybe today they’ll clear you to drive. You could drive us home?” I give a hopeful smile as I watch the road, but catch Kaleb’s nod in my peripheral. Since I told him to give our marriage a chance, he hasn’t been mean, but hasn’t been outwardly nice or affectionate either. “You know, after physical therapy, we could head upstairs to the counseling offices…”

“I’m not seeing a shrink, Luna,” he cuts me off, firmly.

“You need to talk to somebody,” I say softly, “even if it’s not me.”

“What the hell difference does it make?” he asks, incredulously. “It’s just talking.”

“Talking can help you work through it, believe it or not. It can help you expel some of that toxicity, and those people there can relate to you, what you’ve been through, far better than I could ever try to. Besides, you agreed to give this a try, and you haven’t done shit.” I raise my eyebrows facetiously, being mockingly perky as I turn into the center’s parking lot.

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